The taste of the polluted air –
exhaust fumes garbage strewn
water locomotive whooshing sounds –
rests in the thorax of city goers
who visit Queens Quay to watch
the depressed clouds settle in on
promises Tories make on the history channel.

Your skin like rubber,
the floppy back seat of a car,
has seen the inertia and the momentum
of a fast paced life in Toronto.

Sipping fake pina coladas on the beach near the waterfront;
gawking at the expensive mannequins draped with silk and glitter along Bayview;
sifting through the mud in grey sandals;
snorting loudly at sad scenes from the back of the theater.

Your life memorialized through the scars on your self
haunts the alley ways and tunnels of this world.